


Mine Alone

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King of the Iron Islands finds assistance in an unlikely place.</p>
<p>AU where Euron Greyjoy invades the North during the events in ADWD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine Alone

Ramsay looks up, and in the shadows he can just barely make out the sharp gleam of a smile, blazing like a knife in the gloom, a burning blue eye fixed on him as he makes his way to his master, on hands and knees. A hand, smooth as a lord’s, so unlike those of the other men aboard this strange vessel, emerges to rest on his brow, stroking him with icy fingers, nails grazing Ramsay’s skin just enough to send shivers down his spine. It cards through his hair, newly-cropped by one of Euron’s voiceless thralls, his greenlander’s carefully arranged locks impractical for a lengthy voyage at sea.

*

He had not taken to this at first, rebelling in the only way that he knew how, with knives and blood and his own impotent, frustrated fury, and although he’d hacked to bits his share of Ironborn, it had not troubled their king. He had only watched and listened, a curious smile playing on his blue-stained lips, showing his sharp teeth in what had, in the end, been a vague sort of admiration for such brutal and foolhardy courage. When Euron’s forces had arrived in the north, presumably to avenge their broken prince, the Boltons had assumed that they would seek vengeance. But Euron Greyjoy, knowing just how precarious his position would become if Balon’s heir emerged to challenge his claim, had only laughed to see the brittle hair, the shattered smile, the wasted flesh, of Theon Greyjoy before taking custody of him and gifting him a quiet and merciful death. 

“You did this,” Euron had murmured when granted audience with Ramsay and his father. “You.” His smiling eye, blue as the waters that he claimed to have sailed the world over, twinkled with amusement as he beheld the heir to the Dreadfort in his gaudy finery, bedecked in all of the affections as though they would cement his precarious claim to legitimacy. 

Roose had been wise enough to keep silent where this misplaced respect was concerned, only too glad to be rid of what had grown only too troublesome in recent years, the knife over his and his unborn child’s head removed by a very unlikely source, and when the King of the Iron Islands had requested Ramsay’s presence to attend him, he had not refused the request. For his part, Ramsay was not as enraged as he could have been. Euron had approved of what he had done, had commended its brutal artistry, and had even permitted him an audience without his far too controlling father in attendance. It had pleased Ramsay to be taken seriously, and when Euron had whispered to him of lands in the east ripe for their plucking, bared to their blades like unbroken skin, he had been sold in more ways in one. True, his voluntary exile was the price of his now discarded house’s freedom and victory, but there were other advantages. 

So accustomed to watching over the saltire and the rack, Ramsay had been broken, but not through something so common as ordinary torture. No, Euron had insinuated himself into Ramsay’s existence, his tacit approval as he watched his new pet strike at a disobedient thrall with the cat so different from Roose’s harsh criticisms. Instead, he shared with Ramsay the cold thrill as they watched the blood run in ribbons down the man’s back, and when Ramsay had taken things a step too far, bathing the wounds with saltwater to exacerbate the pain, their laughter had quietly mingled, a hideous music breaking the quietude aboard the Silence. It had not been too hard for Ramsay to accept the man as a bedpartner either, for he was as gifted with hands and mouth as he was with rods and lashes, and in his weaker moments that he would not confess to anyone, he could imagine that the lips on his flesh belonged to another, long dead, and the fingers that found him in the darkness were his as well, flesh returned to what was now surely bone. 

It was all so gradual that he did not notice that the control that he had thought to possess slipped away, bit by bit. He had not really mastered this man, for Euron Greyjoy had seen far more than he, and had done far worse things that Ramsay’s most elaborate fantasies could even imagine. And his talent was not so much the knife as it was the mind. Ramsay had become his now, body and soul. It had not taken much in the end for the seduction to work. It had only taken the approval of a better. A smile and a nod had conquered all. 

* 

“Mine,” Euron murmurs. “Mine alone.” Ramsay’s hands are already fumbling with the fastenings on his leggings, fingers eager, mouth almost watering at the thought that he has pleased this strange man, at once so remote and so cloying, a poison presence, but an alluring poison, nonetheless. Gone is the finery, gone is the presumption, gone is the rage. There is only the darkness, and his lord, his lover, his master.


End file.
